


What the Heart Sees

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Ableism, Accidents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Crying, Declarations Of Love, Disability, Established Relationship, Family, Family Dynamics, Feels, Fights, Gaelic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Permanent Injury, Physical Disability, Prequel, Scotland, Scottish Gaelic (a little bit), Self-Hatred, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: In the aftermath of losing his eye during a horrific farming accident, Marcus learns the true strength of his relationship with Alec.
Relationships: Deimos/Praxis (Starfighter), Ethos & Praxis (Starfighter)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Starfighter Summer Challenge





	What the Heart Sees

**Author's Note:**

> I was so excited when “ill-informed pastoral romanticism/farming disasters” won a spot in the themes for this year’s Starfighter Summer Challenge. It was the perfect excuse to dig up this mostly finished WIP prequel to my fic [The Thistle and The Rose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481670/) and add a heaping dash of angst to the proceedings! I've also previously written a much happier prequel for Praxis and Deimos in this AU, [All My Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768838), which is set before this fic. 
> 
> Content warning for some pretty bad internalized ableism and self-hating thoughts. If those are sensitive subjects for you, please proceed with caution and take care of yourself, dear readers <3 
> 
> Name reference:  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Aidan = Ethos

Aidan had finally gone home, leaving Marcus to wallow in his own self-pitying misery.

He’d been hanging around the hospital looking so concerned that Marcus couldn’t stand it any longer. He’d snapped, and growled out a “Get tae FUCK!” so loud he was sure the entire wing had heard it. His annoyance and fury had subsided the second he saw the hurt in his best friend’s face. He hated himself for yelling at Aidan. It wasn’t the other man’s fault that any of this had happened.

He tried to convince himself that he hadn’t just ended their friendship in a fit of impotent rage, lashing out at the nearest target. After all, Aidan had said he’d be back to see him again…

"Aye right! Fine, ye fuckin' self-absorbed cunt! Ah’ll leave, if tha's what ye want,” the blond man had shot back before storming out of the room, “But ye’ll nae be rid o’ me tha’ easily! Ah’m comin’ back tae see ye again th’morra.”

The way tears had threatened to spill from his big blue eyes, overly shiny in the fluorescent lighting, haunted Marcus’ thoughts as he waited for the doctor to sign his discharge papers. Guilt rolled around inside his head as he watched the pharmacist fill the prescriptions he’d been given as a parting gift. He could only trust that his friend’s stubbornness was enough to force him to make good on that, so maybe he would get a chance to apologize.

Marcus hoped that Alec had thought to text Aidan and let him know that he’d gotten out before they’d started on the drive home. Aidan would have even more reason to be angry if he ended up going all the way back out to the hospital unnecessarily. It wasn’t exactly a short drive from East Braebaud. He briefly considered texting his friend himself, but decided against it. He didn’t want to try and focus on the tiny phone screen, especially when he already felt ill. Whether that was from the pain medication or his new, one-eyed view of the road rushing past—perspective skewed and disorienting—he couldn’t tell.

He didn’t want to ask, either. The silence that hung between him and his husband felt like a third presence in the vehicle. It was strange and unpleasant. Marcus was so used to their many silences being comfortable, even comforting. A constant in their relationship that he had come to love, along with everything else about the man he’d married only a little over a year ago.

He toyed nervously with his ring; spinning it around his finger, feeling the smooth band of metal that had practically become a part of him. The same way Alec had.

Closing his remaining eye, Marcus wished he could pretend for a moment that the darkness which enveloped half his field of view wasn’t the horrible new reality he now had to contend with. But no visual stimulation was almost worse in some ways. His mind ran in ruminating circles, endlessly looping back over everything that had happened.

How awful it all was. How useless he felt. Wondering if he would ever be able to drive again, or if people would be forced to chauffeur him around like this for the rest of his life. If he’d even be able to run the inn after this, or if he’d just be a burden to Alec.

If he’d ever feel normal again.

Passing through a rare straight, open portion of road didn’t give him much hope for that. The fields of barley stretched out to either side of them in what most people would consider a picturesque vista of rural Scotland. But all he could see were the combines, making paths through the tawny fields of grain as they threshed it.

He shuddered with surprising violence, having to fight down a wave of panic.

 _Just don’t look, it’s fine,_ he tried to reason himself away from the precipice in his mind. _They won’t be anywhere near the road. It’s safe here._

With his good eye closed, he didn’t see Alec reach over. The sudden warmth of his husband’s hand on his thigh made Marcus shudder again, this time with relief. It felt like his touch, their connection, was forcibly chasing out the fears that threatened to engulf him. In turn, he forced his breathing to even out, wondering if he’d ever be able to look at one of those machines again without flinching. Without reliving the last terrifying moments he’d had sight from his left eye. Without thinking about what he’d lost in one horrible instant, too fast to react.

He could still hear Aidan’s screams ringing in his ears, old Mrs. Macnab’s sobbing as she called for the ambulance. _I should probably go see her tomorrow and let her know I’m okay,_ he thought, already exhausted by the idea, _She’ll fret to death otherwise. I bet she’s blaming herself right now._ It wasn’t her fault the old combine had broken down in the middle of the harvest, or that he and Aidan had decided they could fix it instead of calling the mechanic.

Ultimately it was his fault, for not being more careful. For ignoring Aidan’s concern over how close he was getting to the rapid, sharp moving parts of the machinery.

He held back another shudder, the stymied motion making its way out as a quick, quivering breath instead. _It could have been so much worse._ Alec’s hand squeezed his leg before returning to the steering wheel, leaving him to his guilt-ridden thoughts.

They were having supper in the breakfast room of the inn because it had the largest table aside from the ones down in the pub. It seemed too bright—glaring compared to how he remembered it—even though Marcus was certain it wasn’t as bad as the hospital with all the overhead fluorescents.

“D’ye want some more water, Marcus?” asked his older sister, Mary, taking his half-empty glass and filling it from the pitcher again without bothering to wait for an answer.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, still looking down at his plate.

Mary and his mother had come back to their hometown as soon as they’d heard about the accident, and had been fussing over him since the minute they’d arrived. After two days in the hospital Marcus was already on edge, and now he was stuck in the inn with them. Luckily it was already towards the end of tourist season. There were no customers staying at the bed and breakfast, so his family members could take a guest room each. But there was no way they’d let him take care of the linens on this visit. Not that he really had any desire to, at the moment.

He only wanted to go to bed.

The sombre mood in the room just reduced his own limited appetite further. The pain meds left him vaguely nauseated already, but the way Mary and his mother made stilted conversation wasn’t helping. He poked half-heartedly at the quick stew his mother had prepared, feeling clumsy with his utensils and wondering how soon he could make his excuses and abandon the table.

He hated that he couldn’t properly see Alec, who was sitting on his left side. He wanted to be able to gauge his husband’s response to the conversation. To silently ask him with his eyes— _no, just one eye, now_ —whether he wanted to go. It took a mighty effort, but he forced himself through the rest of the meal and accepted goodnight hugs even though he didn’t want them. He couldn’t help but notice how stiff his mother was as she embraced him, how much his sister looked like she was slightly afraid of him. Or afraid for him.

He didn’t know which was worse.

Finally alone with Alec in the bedroom they shared, Marcus couldn’t read the silence from his husband the way he was normally able to. It was almost strained; some of the awful tension from supper following them.

He puttered around, delaying getting into bed even though he knew it was getting late. Taking longer than necessary to brush his teeth. Leafing through unopened envelopes on top of the small table against the wall. Leaving them unopened because mail for the business would be at the front desk of the inn, and he could guess what these were by the shape and heft alone. Cards, likely reading ‘Get Well Soon!’ and other useless platitudes that would make him want to tear them up.

Instead, he went to fuss with the clothing in the wardrobe. He could see Alec get into bed after the quick shower he’d taken. Looking at him expectantly where he was still hovering around the row of hangars, one in his hand, not yet fully undressed.

“I can sleep in the other guest room...” Marcus said, finally, not even wanting to look Alec in the eye as he said it. Not wanting to meet both of those beautiful blue-grey eyes with just the one he had left.

“Ye want tae?” Alec actually spoke, just above a whisper. But the usual raspy, disused quality to his voice was missing.

That just made Marcus feel more guilty. He knew that over the past day or two Alec had been forced to talk a lot more than he usually ever would. Especially since Marcus had chased Aidan off. Between doctors, nurses, and his family—who should have known better, who knew Alec didn’t really do chatting, but were in such a state and looking for reassurance... Marcus wished again that they hadn’t come down, and then felt guilty twice over for being so unappreciative. _They came because they care, and they wanted to help._

“I mean... I ken it’ll be a lot ta get used to… I don’t want, uh, ta make ye...” he trailed off, leaving all his worries about how Alec might react unspoken.

From the corner of his good eye, he saw his husband’s head shake side to side forcefully. Heavy black clumps of still-damp hair flung back and forth in a disorienting blur.

His own hair hadn’t had a wash in almost three days, but the idea of water pouring over his head right now was too much. Just the thought of having to figure out how to protect the bandages from getting wet made it feel like his chest had constricted. The sound of Alec’s hand patting the mattress beside him distracted Marcus from that less-than-cheerful train of thought. He took an uneven breath and stole a glance in the direction of the bed.

His husband—his kind, wonderful, beautiful, loving husband—gazed back at him, face carefully composed into a neutral yet inviting expression. His eyes gave away the game, though. Too bright, blinking too fast. Marcus could practically hear the plea in them.

But it worked. Of course it worked. How could he turn his back on that?

He emptied his pockets, carefully depositing their contents on the top of the small table beside the envelopes he was still determined to disregard, then shucked his trousers. He took his time placing them in the hamper, pausing to summon whatever courage he could before turning around.

Marcus paused halfway to the bed, realising that he’d been heading to his usual side on autopilot. But Alec was there, looking back at him with a question on his face, leaving _his_ usual place empty, instead. He felt so stupid once it hit him. Alec had moved over so he wouldn’t be on his blind side. He turned and went around to the other side without acknowledging the change in routine. Luckily, he managed to get there without crashing into the bed frame or anything else. Sliding in on the wrong side felt strange. Everything in his life already felt upside down... Even something as minor as this loomed huge in his psyche, reinforcing the fact that everything was going to be different now. He lay down and Alec’s hand found his, small and warm and comforting.

Staring up at the ceiling, he had to admit it was better than if they’d kept their usual spots. Being able to see Alec’s face in his peripheral vision almost made things seem normal, if he ignored the fact that he couldn’t see the other side of the room.

Alec inched closer and Marcus could feel the heat radiating off his petite form, not quite touching him but obviously wanting to. He hated how this tiny, almost-normal act of intimacy and comfort made him want to bolt out of bed. He fought the urge to push Alec away. He didn’t want to be touched. Just wanted to be left alone to wallow in self-pity some more. He couldn’t stand what he was sure was a loving gaze from his husband, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Couldn’t imagine Alec continuing to want to direct gazes like that at him now, with how disfigured he was. Or trying to return them with only one eye; an awful, unbalanced stare that would turn even the most tender moments to something monstrous.

Never again to stare deeply into each other’s eyes for long moments that felt nearly endless—the closest to the infinite splendour of the universe he’d ever felt—saying more than words ever could. So much of their relationship built on that connection; that unspoken, visible thread of communication. Ruined forever.

“I... I won’t be angry, if ye want ta leave,” said Marcus, voice flat as he tried to remain calm. Tried to say what he needed Alec to know, without breaking down halfway through. “Even just fer a break... ‘til I have this sorted. I wouldn’t blame ye. And ma’s here, so ye don’t need ta worry about taking care o’—”

“Nae gaein’ anywhere,” said Alec, cutting his speech off in as firm a tone as Marcus had ever heard from him. Wrapping his arms around Marcus’ shoulders and whispering the next words right into his ear, “Love ye. Always.”

Three simple words, each one chipping into his defensive front. The crack they formed widening, spreading, until it all crumbled; everything Marcus had been holding back for the past few days rushing out of him at once with a heaving sob. He turned to bury his face into the crook of Alec’s neck, shuddering in the smaller man's embrace.

He hated that he couldn’t see anything with his good side pressed into the familiar angle of a delicate collar bone. Hated knowing that if Alec looked down he’d be staring at sterile white gauze, starkly contrasted by his own black bangs. Hated that he couldn’t seem to stop the tears. Feeling them trickle down Alec’s chest on one side and collect in the bandage on the other, making it damp and itchy around the edge that pressed into his cheek. Hot shame worse than the lingering pain he could still feel through the medication he’d been given.

“Shhh...” Alec made comforting shushing noises into his hair as Marcus sniffled and tried to reign in his emotions, “Gunnae be awright.”

“B- but, what if...” Marcus tried, countless doubts crowding his mouth and making it impossible to form a single one into clear words. All that came out was yet another round of helpless sobs.

Alec just kept holding him. Which should have helped him calm down, but it just made him weep more.

“Chan fhaic gràdh lochd _._ ”

If his brain wasn’t overcome with misery, anxiety crashing around inside his head making it hard to breathe let alone think, he might have been able to piece together what his husband had said.

 _Something about love,_ Marcus recognized, but didn’t get any further, _He doesn’t deserve this, he shouldn’t be stuck with me just because he used to love—_

“Promise.”

A single word, barely audible over his own muffled crying, interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Someone else might not have taken it for much, but Marcus heard the quiet fervency of each syllable. The weight with which Alec spoke it. So full of devotion, just like the way he’d said “I do” only the year before.

Marcus felt the squeeze of Alec’s arms around him—the press of a thin platinum band where his husband’s left hand clutched at the nape of his neck—and tried to believe it.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Chan fhaic gràdh lochd = Love sees no fault
> 
> Traditional Gaelic saying. When I saw it on a language-learning blog, I knew it was the perfect fit for this fic idea which had been rolling around in my head partly formed for a while. I’m not crying, you’re crying. 
> 
> Feel free to come talk to me about Praxmos, Scotland, or anything else over on [my tumblr](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/).


End file.
